I Am Covered In Skin
by ToxicLullaby
Summary: Excerpt: "The Colt Patterson had become an extension of his left hand, his finger still on the trigger that launched the fatal bullet into the heart that used to belong to his brother."


**Disclaimer- **I don't own them. Again, that's most likely a good thing.

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**I Am Covered In Skin**

Dead silence. That was all he could hear through his deafened ears. The sound of constant thumping accompanied by the hummed rhythm of Metallica's Some Kind Of Monster had faded into the atmosphere. The room was shrouded in an unnatural darkness.

All five senses had stopped working hours ago…or was it days? He couldn't tell. The room could have been as bright as the sun, but it would still look completely black to him. He no longer saw anything outside his own mind. And his mind was as blank as a clean sheet of paper before it's been covered in the ugly grey markings of words that held no meaning anymore.

He was stuck to the bed. The blood had dried into crusty crimson shackles. And the body from which it came was draped over his torso, begging him not to leave him alone. No words were needed to portray this body's loneliness. It didn't have a face anymore. One of flesh, yes, cold in it's now porcelain beauty. But there was no soul. This body was begging for someone to give it life again. To be able to walk out of the room, feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, to feel the wind in his hair as he walked in the world with the purpose of killing evil.

However, this prisoner needed not look for the next monster to hunt. With every stab, with every shot that made something less then human dissipate into thin air, a little piece of your soul died with them. But this monster that was here, hidden beneath a handsome face and once so welcoming arms, had grabbed onto his soul and dragged it down with him, leaving this cold, empty shell behind that had nothing, was nothing, would never be anything ever again.

There was no more life after death. They had both been there and done that. There was no spell, no ritual, and no demon to threaten to bring them back. There was only this prison of flesh, still fighting to stay alive, and losing the battle.

His eyes were as dark and lost as what they saw. His skin was as cold as the body on top of him. His mouth had become a desert. The only color of him was the deep purple of his wrist as it continued to bang on the corner of the wooden nightstand beside him. The Colt Patterson had become an extension of his left hand, his finger still on the trigger that launched the fatal bullet into the heart that used to belong to his brother.

The last of his family had finally left him. But it wasn't last night…or whenever he had killed him. It was months ago. When he had brought him back to life, he thought he had finally gotten his brother back, and made damn sure he'd never lose him again. But of course, things were never that easy for a Winchester. What had come back had imitated his brother to a T; at least long enough to have him fooled.

No, this couldn't be his brother. The blood that had once made him so warm, so sweet, had turned frigidly cold in the blink of an eye. One second he was holding a gun on a monster, the next he was holding it on him. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, something in him awoke and brought him back to his old self…sort of. He was colder, more distant, and unemotional. Ever since then, they would be grocery shopping, or eating breakfast at a diner, or sitting on a smelly old couch watching bad TV, and within an instant his brother would turn on him, tried to kill him, taunted and mocked him.

But he didn't care. This was his brother. All he had left in the world. He wasn't about to throw him away like an old towel, used and falling to pieces. He was going to savor whatever ounce of humanity his brother held, and if he killed him, then so be it. He couldn't leave him like that. He couldn't leave him at all. Not even now.

But last night, that was the point of no return. They had both been fast asleep. Sharing a bed because they could no longer afford a double, and he had no motivation to apply for new cards or hustle a game of poker. He woke to the sound of growling, unworldly to his human ears. When he looked over, he came face to face with an evil unlike any he had seen before. Not ever in his entire life had he seen that look of pure hate in someone's eyes.

He dared not show his fear. When he jumped on him, he let him beat him, curse him, strangle him, he knew it would soon pass and they would be sleeping again in a few minutes. But that wasn't the case. For the first time, this thing had a voice. Not of his brother's, but of something else. He tried to exorcize him, but to no avail. He just kept on.

'_You wanted to save your brother. You wanted to bring him back so you could cuddle him and love him and all that mushy bullshit. But what's dead should stay dead! Now here you are, too much of a coward to put an end to his misery. Shoot! Pull the trigger! Pull it and act as if you actually give a damn!'_

_He shook his head. 'No! I won't kill him! He's my brother! You can't have him!'_

_That's when the beatings stopped. He opened his eyes to look the monster in the face. But this was no longer the face of his brother. It was distorted beyond recognition. What was this evil? Why was it here?_

_The thing laughed; his breath hot as flames on his face. 'I already do.'_

That was when it happened. His skin shattered like glass and all that was left was this monster, black as the night and strong as one thousand men. There was nothing left of that familiar face. It was just pure, unabashed evil looking him in the face.

He knew it was time to end this, right then and right there. He reached a blind hand under his pillow, pulling out the Colt, and taking steady aim at his target. The thing grinned, beckoning him to take his shot. And he did, without hesitation he pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet pierced the black, causing it to go up in flames.

It was then when the reality of it all had hit him like a ton of bricks. His brother's body was back, staring down at him, eyes full of questions. But the blood that poured through his mouth prevented him from asking any of them out loud. And just like that, his body collapsed onto his chest, and hasn't moved since.

That's when his mind started to unfold. Everything was clear to him now. It had all been an illusion. The thing made him see what he wanted him to see. His brother had been there all along, he just couldn't see it. Had he been trying to kill him because he was the one that had gone evil? Was his perception all wrong? Maybe he was the one who was cold-blooded?

Now he was nothing. Just an empty shell, merely hinting that life was once there. He lived for his brother, so life without him was unfathomable. What would he wake up to? Who would he have other then himself to turn to? Bobby? Ellen? Maybe even Ruby? But they had all gone. Left him to drown in the mess he had created. Either way, things would have ended like this anyways. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but somewhere down the road this would have happened to either one of them, and eventually they would come to realize that they had exhausted nature from going against it so much. What's dead should stay dead. That's the rule.

And though he was still breathing, he was dead. He had been dead, brought back to life. The ripples they set out every time they went against nature came back in a title wave and drowned them in its wrath in order to set things right. And it had taken what it wanted. There was nothing left to fight for. And there certainly wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel. This was the last thing he would ever know.

Without further ado, he released the trigger on the gun before bringing it to his head. He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily.

"Goodnight, Dean."

The ring of the gunshot filled the room as Sam pulled the trigger, his soul disappearing behind the veil of blood.


End file.
